


Dance with me, Autumn.

by ElectricDove



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, Old Age, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricDove/pseuds/ElectricDove
Summary: The dancing wind, the decay of body and mind, the beauty of the season.Rhett and Link as old men, talking about being old together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the fall ficathon: 
> 
> * photo prompt  
> * prompt knitted hat and gloves

_"They say it is the month of death, But I have never seen such beauty in decay._

_Breathe in and let it fill your lungs._

_It is at this time the world seems still, And the fear of winter is forgotten._

_If only for a moment, Before the light fades, And we return to darkness once more."_

[Source](http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/november-3)

The park is empty today, the overcast skies and unforgiving wind not that inviting for the families and joggers that usually bring this little stretch of fabricated nature to life. A quiet bench at the corner of the park, unoccupied until Link comes along, is damp with the afternoon’s rain, coloring its wood darker than usual. Every now and then big fat drops from one of the nearby trees still fall down, bringing down dying leaves with them every so often.

It’s with a deep sigh that Link lets his weary body lower to the seat, right next to a fallen maple leaf, stuck to the wood but still fluttering in the wind. He takes a moment to watch the frantic movement of the yellowing leaf, a dramatic dance, left and right, up and down, until the wind quiets down for a bit and lets its dance partner rest for a bit.  
  
  
Link takes the moment of rest as well, his breath a little short after briskly walking through the park to his usual spot, not used to the struggle the wind provided and not really up for dancing anymore.  
His hair has turned grey, a distinguished steely silver with streaks of white, but still as thick and lush as always. His hands lie in his lap, bony fingers trembling worse now with old age and the cold attacking his exposed skin.  
Looking at his hands is always the most confronting for him, the skin there no longer taut or tanned, the shakiness so apparent these days he can’t safely hold a coffee cup on his own for long.

Longingly he remembers the knitted gloves on the kitchen table, left there next to his favorite woolen hat as he absentmindedly left the home some time earlier. But the thought of its warm, dark red wool isn’t doing anything good for him right now. A small shiver runs through him and Link curses his absent mind, the fogginess in there sometimes interfering with his well structured plans for the day. Where once his mind was a structured, familiar chaos, it’s been all over the place lately, causing him more and more troubles.

The quiet wooden bench had called for him this morning, its promise of solitude in the cold weather exactly what he needed to let his mind wander and think for a bit. He’d planned on being out here for a good while, getting chilled before returning home, where he could warm up again in front of the big fireplace. But he hadn’t planned on freezing his hands off, or his ears for that matter.  
His knees creak loudly when Link stands up again, his hands pushing himself up from the seat. The back of his pants are a little damp, the not too tight fabric clinging to his legs like his skinny jeans used to do all the time. He’s only wasted a couple of minutes, the time it takes him to retrieve his protection against the bleak weather not disturbing his plans for the days much, but it still has him on edge, annoyed with himself. Link knows that once he sets foot inside the house again, the promise of cosy and warm and home is tempting, chipping away at his resolution to sit out here.  
  


Now that he’s standing, the shadow of the giant maple trees no longer impeding his view, Link can spot an approaching figure. The familiar silhouette brings a smile to Link’s face like it always does, equal parts amused and affectionate.  
Rhett’s gait is slow and careful, a mere shadow of his former confident, long strided walk, the wooden cane in his right hand helping him along. The wind is merciless as it whips around him, threatening to unbalance Rhett’s large frame. It spurs Link into action.  
A couple of his own easier strides and he’s right next to Rhett, his body pressed up next to his side as he holds on to Rhett’s left arm. The grin that Rhett shoots him is grateful, wide and genuine. He lets Link fold his arm around Rhett’s back, leading him to the wooden bench Link just vacated.

As they settle down, Rhett taking Link with him, their thighs touching and their arms still interlinked, Rhett speaks up.

“Hey buddyroll, knew I’d find you here.”  
  
He’s out of breath, even more than Link was before, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. It’s wiped away with a steady hand, the long fingers running through his own grey locks on their way back to Rhett’s side. 

“What are you doing here, Rhett? This isn’t the weather for you to be outside, we talked about this.”  
  
Link’s tone of voice is exasperated, even as the smile upon seeing his partner hasn’t left his face. He pushes his glasses back up to their usual spot, tries glaring at the man sitting beside him.

As good as it is to have Rhett by his side, Link worries. Worries about Rhett falling, legs crumpling underneath him or a big gust of wind knocking him over when Link isn’t there to hold him steady. They’d agreed on Rhett not leaving the house without Link, especially on stormy days, when the unreliable nature of North Carolina weather could surprise him.  
Of course, Rhett being Rhett, he hadn’t kept to this agreement and, as if to prove his independence, he’d even followed Link out on this stormy day.

  
Instead of answering Link’s question or reacting to the accusation, Rhett digs into his coat pocket and produces a dark red woolen hat with matching knitted gloves. He holds them out to Link, the red knitwear contrasting with Rhett’s own dark blue knitted palm.  
Link’s smile is sheepish, taking the offered goods gladly. The gloves feel good on his fingers, comfortable as they fit snugly around his fingers, warming them immediately. The hat is shoved down too far over his forehead, just shy of obscuring his eyes as Link laughs up to Rhett from underneath it. The quick kiss that Rhett presses to the tip of his nose is unexpected, but makes him laugh even more.

Their laughter still sounds the same, unchanged over their years together, Rhett’s low chuckles and Link’s higher pitched giggles harmonizing beautifully.  
  
  
“I knew you’d forget your gloves, I even warned you this morning. But as usual, someone forgot..”  
  
He knows Rhett’s just teasing him, the raised brow and ‘told you so’ look all too familiar. But it still gets to him, Link’s failing memory and general forgetfulness something Link is worrying about a lot these days. He doesn’t laugh Rhett’s accusation off, can’t look Rhett in the eyes. So Link turns away, stares into the distance, barely taking in his surroundings as he sifts through his thoughts, tries to come up with something to say.  
  


“You think we’re getting old, Rhett?”

Before Rhett can answer with something funny, something silly about how they’re two old farts already, both of them nearing their 80’s by now and in no way young men anymore, Link hastens to add more to the question. These are the thoughts he wanted to dwell on today anyway; Rhett might as well help now that he’s here with him on the damp wooden bench in the park across the street. Link shivers as the cold suddenly gets to him, the wind picking up again, making the leaves scattered around them dance again.

“I mean... I know we’re old already. But do you think we’re getting really old? Like, ‘the winter of our lives’ kind of old? Like, getting ready to die kind of old?”

It’s a question Link wanted to answer for himself, but the thoughts inside his own head scare him, the cold and death of the season heavy on his mind. The decline of his own body, his own mind slipping here and there is frightening. To see it mirrored in Rhett, in different but still recognisable ways, is maybe even scarier.  
  
Looking at Rhett now, the beginning of a smile dancing on his lips, nearly hidden in his still bushy beard, Link hopes for better answers from the man next to him. Or at least more soothing answers.  
Rhett sits back a bit, his left arm coming up around Link’s shoulder, tugging Link back against him. For a long moment they just sit, breathing easily together now, sharing their warmth as the wind whips around them.  


“North Carolina is always the prettiest in the fall, don't you think? All the trees changing, the cold makes it real nice whenever you step back into your own warm home. Our own warm home, where we could be having this conversation too, you know.”

Sighing as he sinks a bit deeper into Rhett’s embrace, Link answers in his own accusatory tone.

“The cold helps me think, I can’t properly think with all those fuzzy warm feelings in front of that fireplace you keep setting on fire.”

 “That’s the whole point of a fireplace!”

“It’s not when you set the paper towels next to it on fire too.”

“Who on God’s earth sets a roll of paper towels next to a fireplace then?”

“You did!”  


That shuts Rhett up, his mouth already open for a counterargument before he concedes to the truth of Link’s words. His own mind isn’t so clear either nowadays, already disorganized in his best years, downright messy now.  
He scratches his beard, the sound drowned out by the wind that’s howling around them now, but Link recognizes the movements before he looks up to witness the thoughtful look Rhett has adopted to make the image complete.

“You only do that to make you look like a wise old man. You dork.”

“I am a wise old man.”

“You’re a dork. An old dork.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have a beard.”

“You don’t want me to grow a beard!”

“Link, you know that we can’t both have beards. I’m the one with the beard. The wise old man with a beard.”

“Dork.”  
  
  
Link is rolling his eyes in the practised move he’d mastered by the age of 25, perfected over the time he spent with Rhett. He begrudgingly accepts the soft kiss pressed onto his temple, the bare skin just beneath his hat warmed for a moment by Rhett’s lips.

“I don’t think we’re in the winter just yet, you know.”  
Rhett’s quiet words are barely there, spoken into the wool covering the top of Link’s head. Clearing his throat, Rhett continues in a stronger voice.

“Maybe the fall of our lives, sure. I mean, we just established that I’m old. And you’re not far off. So, yeah, we’re both old, Link. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all, at least not when we still get to do this together. The fall is pretty dang gorgeous, baby.”  
  
  
For the first time since he sat down, the first time alone and the second time now with Rhett, Link really takes the time to look around him.

The path that lead Rhett to him is littered with leaves in a myriad of colors. Reds, browns, oranges and yellows brightening the brick as they dance and rest, changing places with their neighbours and sometimes leaping high into the air, carried by the wind before falling down some time later. The branches of the trees surrounding them are getting emptier, but their roots are surrounded by clusters of mushrooms, acorns and chestnuts.  
The sky is filled with clouds, big streaks of white and gray, a couple of low hanging clouds are dark and filled with new rain. They’re propelled by the strong wind, the same wind that seems so intent on finding exposed skin and chilling it.

Right now, only his cheeks and the tip of his nose are a little cold, Rhett has taken care of all the other parts, so Link doesn’t mind too much.  
Link remembers the weather forecast from last night. The chipper weathergirl announcing that today will be the last day in a streak of bleak stormy weather, followed by cold but bright days, the sun getting a chance to break through the clouds again.  
  
  
As it is, the heavy clouds get another chance to let loose some rain before they’re chased away again. The light drizzle patters on their coats, soft for now but with the promise of a heavier downpour, a warning for the pair of old men sitting huddled together on a bench.

They’ll get up in a moment, helping each other stand and shuffle together to their home across the park.  
Their home, where Rhett will light the fireplace while talking about the merits of burning hornbeam wood instead of oak or birchwood. Where Link will shed his knitwear, meticulously putting them away along with Rhett’s outerwear, grouching to the man who just threw them over a nearby chair.  
Link will bring over the intricately carved wooden walking stick to Rhett’s side, kissing his distracted partner on the chin as he passes him on his way to the old leather couch next to the fire. The couch which has room enough for just the two of them pressed together, enjoying the warmth of their home and each other.

They’ll do that in a minute, for now they’ll sit together on a wooden bench, surrounded by the cold and the rain, enjoying the fall of their lives as the wind dances around them.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come and find me on my [tumblr](http://touchinganelectricdove.tumblr.com/)  
> As always, special thanks to the amazing robin for her help <3 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, comments and kudos are always great.


End file.
